


Vanilla Twilight

by the_og_goblin



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Angst and Tragedy, Blood, Dead Marco Bott, Depression, Heavy Angst, Hurt, M/M, Past Character Death, Sad, Sad Ending, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-16
Updated: 2019-06-16
Packaged: 2020-05-12 18:46:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19234978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_og_goblin/pseuds/the_og_goblin
Summary: The stars lean down to kiss youAnd I lie awake and miss youPour me a heavy dose of atmosphere'Cause I'll doze off safe and soundlyBut I'll miss your arms around meI'd send a postcard to you, dear'Cause I wish you were hereI'll watch the night turn light blueBut it's not the same without youBecause it takes two to whisper quietlyThe silence isn't so bad'Til I look at my hands and feel sad'Cause the spaces between my fingersAre right where yours fit perfectlyI'll find repose in new waysThough I haven't slept in two days'Cause cold nostalgia chills me to the boneBut drenched in vanilla twilightI'll sit on the front porch all nightWaist deep in thought because whenI think of you I don't feel so alone......It's Marco's birthday. It's also been about seven months since he died in that car crash that ruined Jean's life. He tried his best to cope...but he just wanted to see Marco again.





	Vanilla Twilight

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so...I should have written a happy fic for Marco's birthday, but I was upset and stressed about stuff and this happened...ha. I almost don't regret it. I'll write a happy fic for them someday but today is not that day.

Today was Marco's birthday. Jean knew that very well. 

 

He'd been awake for several hours already, though the sun had yet to turn the skies grey and wake up the birds.

 

He wasn't thinking about anything in particular, there was just a fluttering feeling in his chest that refused to go away. It was more than often present in his chest now, eating away at his sanity slowly but surely.

 

Jean blinked and suddenly it was morning, warm rays of sunshine dripping through his window and sifting over his face. 

 

His phone buzzed.

 

Connie was calling. Probably checking up on him. Jean let it go to voicemail, then turned his phone off. He didn't feel like talking to anyone else now.

 

He sat up, the feeling in his chest getting heavier until he pretty much wanted to be sick. Getting out of bed suddenly felt like the hardest thing he'd ever done; his legs trembled and his breath hitched in his throat until he had somehow ended up in the bathroom.

 

He pulled his clothes off with shaking hands and flung himself into the shower, grabbing at the handle and immersing himself in the steam and hot water so that his thoughts wouldn't stray anywhere dangerous.

 

Except that today the steam felt like a blanket trying to smother him, thick and unrelenting on his lungs until he couldn't breathe. He collapsed to the floor of the shower, gasping in breaths away from the steam.

 

Jean's hands found themselves tangled in his hair, gripping so tightly that he could feel pain stinging in his scalp but he really didn't care. He could barely feel it over the numb feeling that was burning in his chest.

 

He could taste blood and salt in his mouth, from biting his tongue hard enough to bleed. With the shower directly above his head he had to keep blinking water out of his eyes, but he knew that it wasn't all from the shower.

 

The water was cold before his tears had run out, but his chest hurt from crying so much. This was the third time he'd broken down crying since he'd woken up at 1:43 that morning and he was absolutely exhausted, though it wasn't from lack of sleep.

 

Standing up he rinsed the soap out of his hair and off his shoulders, shivering in the freezing water but somehow it felt like it was soothing the broken pieces of his mind.

 

His lips were blue by the time he made himself crawl out and wrap himself in a towel. He dried himself off as quickly as possible, then pulled on his boxers and a t-shirt. Gripping the edge of the sink, he reached out and softly pushed the mirror shelf closed, his pale face suddenly jumping out at him as he could see himself in the mirror.

 

He swallowed, reaching up and touching his face. Over the past seven months he'd grown thinner and thinner, barely able to eat after what had happened. As a result, his eyes and cheekbones were sunken into his face, his hair was too long, growing out of the platinum blonde dye, and his once powerful body felt as fragile as a butterfly's wing.

 

Then he looked up, saw the picture taped above his mirror, and his knuckles went white.

 

It was Marco, smiling, beautiful in the sunlight of a tropical beach and looking so happy to see Jean behind the camera.

 

But all Jean could see was that beautiful man, marred and burned and ruined in the remnants of that crash, his blood on Jean's face and his hand still clenched onto Jean's even as he took his last breath.

 

Jean barely made it to the toilet in time to throw up, dry heaving long after his stomach had emptied of whatever had been left inside of it from last night.

 

He couldn't stop shaking, beginning to cry again as his knees bruised on the hard tile and his heart broke all over again. 

 

He pulled his head out of the toilet and flushed it with trembling fingers, then sat back on the tile and buried his face in his hands. Jean couldn't stop hearing the crunch of metal, the squeal of brakes, and that horrible, horrible sound of metal and glass slicing through flesh.

 

Jean dug his fingernails into the skin below his eyes, just hard enough to break the skin and make it bleed. He was aching to just claw the image out of his eyes, burn it all out of his brain. But there was one more thing he needed to do.

 

He stood up again, using the sink to pull himself up to a standing position. Taking care not to look at the picture taped on the mirror, he washed the blood off of his hands and face. 

 

The taste of bile and blood was still on his tongue, so he took a swig of mouthwash and let it cool down his dry mouth. He spat out into the sink and took a few sips of water, steadying his spinning head. After splashing cold water on his face, Jean abruptly felt more grounded, more focused…

 

He pulled a pair of jeans on and a light jacket, grabbing a piece of paper off of his nightstand and shoving it in his back pocket before grabbing his keys and wallet. He left his phone where it was, he didn't need it.

 

He made his way out of his apartment and walked a couple of blocks down the street, entering the small flower shop and hiding from the woman at the counter behind a shelf of potted plants. 

 

He wouldn't really be needing much money after today, so he picked up several large bouquets of various colored lilies, Marco's favorite flower. The scent brought a wave of nostalgia rushing over him like a wave, memories of sun-soaked summer days and times when he was actually happy…. 

 

He shook it off like water off his shoulders and paid for the lilies as quickly as he could. If the woman at the counter was phased by the bloody crescents under his eyes or his emaciated body, she didn't show it. She just smiled and told him to have a nice day.

 

Nice day. 

 

Well. She didn't know.

 

Jean gathered the lilies in his arms and began his long walk down to the cemetery.

 

It was a beautiful day, a light breeze tossing his hair back and carrying a scent of possibilities on the air. 

 

Even the graveyard looked beautiful today. Everything was turning green and there were flowers and little gifts everywhere. 

 

The path Jean walked was something so familiar he could have walked it blind, a path he'd walked every single day without fail for the past seven months. It took him past four statues, one war memorial, eighteen gravestones bearing the last name of Caldwell, and thirty something other graves around his line of sight before he stopped at a smooth, white and silver marble headstone that bore the name of his deceased husband. 

 

Jean carefully arranged the lilies around it, trying to make it look as beautiful as possible. Someone else had already left a wreath of roses around the top; most likely Connie, Annie, and Jaeger. They were always close to Marco. 

 

Marco's headstone was practically glowing by the time Jean sat down, looking eerily radiant in the middle of the graveyard.

 

Jean reached out and put his fingertips against Marco's name, letting his hand rest against the cool stone.

 

"Hey, Marco," he whispered hoarsely, voice rough from disuse but filled with a fond sort of despair that was familiar from all the times he'd talked to Marco. "Um...it's Jean. But I guess you already knew that. Um."

 

He paused, collecting his thoughts, thumb running over the cool cylinder tucked up against his thigh.

 

"Happy birthday, baby," he whispered numbly, fingers caressing the "M" in Marco's name. "I love you so much. I just-- I wish you were here…" 

 

Jean inhaled shakily, pulling something out of his pocket and placing it in his lap. It was so small, but so heavy, and so, so cold...for a minute he hesitated, wondering if he actually wanted to. 

 

But then he remembered the night, they'd been celebrating their five year anniversary, they'd been talking about adopting, about a life they'd never get to have because of a driver so high on something that he'd just  _ laughed _ when he saw the wreckage--

 

A broken sort of noise slid out of Jean’s mouth and he covered his mouth, trying to keep it together for just a little longer. 

 

"I love you so much, Marco, I'll see you soon," Jean breathed, leaning forward and kissing the headstone for a few seconds before pulling back and opening his mouth.

 

The barrel fit so perfectly over his tongue it was almost cruel, and with his hand on the gravestone he tilted it up, closed his eyes, and pulled the trigger.

 

\----

 

Sasha and Annie found him later that night, when the blood was drying on the lilies. Sasha cried for seven hours. Annie's world felt like it was pretty much ending. 

 

Eren and Levi were there before the ambulance picked up his body, proclaimed dead on the spot. They could only look at each other in silence as the paramedics left the scene, a world of words left unspoken. 

 

Connie was there a few minutes later, heavy with regret that he hadn't tried harder. He cleaned the blood off the headstone, but left the lilies there until they withered and died. 

 

He was buried next to Marco.

 

And life went on.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not even finished with Attack on Titan so I don't think I wrote Jean's character right, like I don't think he'd ever do that, but he did. Ah well. Let me know what you thought down below :')


End file.
